


Rain

by WhiteWolfCraft



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWolfCraft/pseuds/WhiteWolfCraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One wet Álvaro, standing in Isco's doorway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pronoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pronoe/gifts).



His black, floppy hair was wet and plastered against his forehead, drops of water running down his face.

“You’re wet,” Isco stated dryly as he looked at Álvaro in his doorway.

“Yup,” the young striker grinned, popping the ‘p’, and pushed his way inside, brushing past Isco with a wet shoulder.

“Why?” Isco asked after he closed the door and turned around to watch Álvaro shake his head like a wet dog, drops of water flying around his little hallway.

“Because it is raining outside, stupid,” Álvaro was beaming, glowing with happiness and before Isco knew it he had closed the distance between them so he could kiss the grin away, taste a bit of the happiness.

“You’re making a mess on my carpet,” Isco mumbled when he pulled away and Álvaro blinked, his eyes big and dark brown, before he looked down, taking in the wet spot around his soaked shoes.

“Oh,” he looked back up, teeth worrying his lower lip and Isco leaned forward, standing on his tiptoes, hands framing Álvaro’s wet cheeks, and kissed him  again.

When Isco dropped back on the flat of his feet Álvaro was grinning again, a bashful look on his face. He trailed a hand over his wet T-shirt, plucking the fabric away from where it was plastered against his skin.

Isco followed Álvaro’s hand down, biting the inside of his cheek when Álvaro tucked the shirt up, a strip of bare, tanned skin visible. He looked back at Álvaro’s face and the striker was looking shy, biting on his lip and glancing at Isco through his eyelashes.

Isco swallowed, throat dry.

Álvaro licked his lips, slow and deliberate, a glint of lust in his dark eyes, before asking with a hoarse voice: “Help me take this off?”


End file.
